


that dress looks nice on you

by leiascully



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: bsg_pornbattle, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-04
Updated: 2009-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:17:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She looks so frakking good in his tanks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that dress looks nice on you

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: New Caprica  
> A/N: Originally written for [**bsg_pornbattle**](http://community.livejournal.com/bsg_pornbattle/) the Second. Title is from the Sufjan Stevens song. The prompt was "borrowed clothes (on Laura)".  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

She looks so frakking good in his tanks that he's hard almost as soon as she steps out of the makeshift bathroom. New Caprica might be a hole, but a lady like her still has some privileges. Chief rigged her a solar-heated shower. She's toweling her hair dry, wearing nothing but his tanks, her nipples perking through the fabric.

"I don't know why you even bother bathing," he says. "You're just gonna come over here and get sweaty again."

Her mouth curves up in that secretive, wicked smile. "I thought it might be courteous."

"Courteous hell," he says, sitting up in her rack. "I don't give a good godsdamn if you shower or not. Come over here."

"Is that an order or a promise, Admiral?"

"Take your pick."

She swings her hair back over her shoulders, flinging water droplets on him. The cot is small, but she manages to straddle him. He's glad he's not wearing anything but the blanket, because she shifts it out of the way and slides right down on him. He grunts at how good she feels, better than the first time he really got a handle on his Viper. She's smoother and she smells better than that old plane, but the rush is the same. He cups her breasts through the fabric.

"You know, these look good on you." It's about all the conversation he can manage, sunk into the heat of her.

She tugs at them. "These old things?"

He laughs. "You should keep 'em."

"I wouldn't want to be run in for misuse of government property," she says, and shifts her hips.

"Huh," he says, any thought he had dissolving in a rush of lust.

"Surprisingly inarticulate of you," she chides, but he reaches out to rub the knot of nerves between her thighs and her scold turns into a moan.

In the tent, they try to keep quiet. She muffles her mouth against his lips. The cot creaks, but there's noise enough to hide that, planetside. Gods, she's so _alive_, so much the life he never had. He touches her the way he touched the controls of his plane, guiding her higher and higher, tiny adjustments until she's shaking around him, gasping into his neck. He holds her hips and follows her up, into the sky he's missed so much.

Afterwards, they lie there, her legs tangled in his, her hair across his face. "You really should keep them," he says. "A memento."

"We'll talk about it later," she says drowsily, and he holds that "later" in his mind like a gift.


End file.
